


go ahead and cry little boy

by Mrs_Moony



Series: daddy issues [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Child Abuse, not I/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:01:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Moony/pseuds/Mrs_Moony
Summary: That was one of the first things he's been taught after being born.Milkoviches don't run.And so he doesn't. He sits on the cold tile floor, squeezing his knees tightly to his chest, trying to suppress the enormous urge to just let go, to cry, to scream, to run out of that house and never come back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "daddy issues" by the neighbourhood

**part I.**

 

Under the kitchen table, a sharp intake of breath resonated in the silence.

The house was quiet, depressingly so. There wasn't a single disturbance to the creeping quiet-

Nothing, except for the panicked breaths. One after another, rushing in and out, faster and faster and faster, almost as if the person hiding in there was running a marathon.

The person – a boy, actually – was not, in fact, running. That was one of the first things he's been taught after being born. _Milkoviches don't run._

And so he doesn't. He sits on the cold tile floor, squeezing his knees tightly to his chest, trying to suppress the enormous urge to just let go, to cry, to scream, to run out of that house and never come back.

Slowly, his breathing starts to calm down, though his heart is still beating too fast. He's dreading the thought of being seen like that, weak and pathetic, _scared_ —something he could never admit to aloud.  He doesn't understand it just yet. He doesn't know why is it so bad to show weakness, to show fear. He knows better than to question the rules, though.

Without as much as a warning, the front door breaks open and the boy's hands fly to his mouth to hold back the cry. He muffles down the sobs of panic and tries not to make a sound, tries not to move. He can hear someone coming closer-

“Mickey?”

He doesn't move.

The floor creaks as someone walks over to the kitchen, breaking the silence so abruptly that he startles and gasps.

“Mickey, are you here? It's me.”

Of course. Of course it's him, he came back for him, he always does. He's close, so close, already making his way through the kitchen, kneeling down next to the table-

It's not him. It's…

“M-“ he tries to say her name, drowning in the blue of her eyes (their eyes) but his voice fails him. Suddenly, the sobbing finally rises out of his chest, the tears finally start streaming down his face. His vision is blurry and he doesn't see her hand when she reaches out – he flinches away so abruptly that he hits his head on the backside of the table.

“Hey, hey, it's me. It's just me, okay, little man? Come on.”

Just then he realises that it wasn't Mandy after all. It wasn't his toddler of a sister, and it wasn't his mom either. The blue eyes were not that blue, even though there was a hint of it in the light grey.

“Iggy?” _Pathetic_ , his brain supplies the first word he can associate with the way his voice sounds.

“Yeah. You can come out of here, okay? Let's go,” Iggy reaches out a hand, waiting for him to take it. He only ever does that in moments like these – when there's no one else around to see, to punch, to-

And so, carefully, he takes the offered hand and as soon as he's out from under the table, wraps his small arms around his older brother, holding on for as long as he can (which he knows won't be long enough).

In a few seconds, Iggy pulls away from him, though he does it gently. He's never gentle, can't be, but here, in their lousy little kitchen with no one else but them, he doesn't care much.

Iggy stands up then, looking down at Mickey.

“We gotta clean up your face, okay? So that Dad…. He's not, he's not here yet, I swear, look!” As soon as he says Dad, Mickey's whole body starts shaking in panic. But Iggy is right. They are alone. Finally, after what seems like hours under the table, he can breathe.

“Okay,” he whispers, letting his brother lead him into the bathroom. Iggy isn't much older than him, but he can reach the paper towels just fine, even though Mickey would have to balance on top of the bathtub to get there. Four years aren't that much indeed, but Iggy's always been way taller than him.

“Here,” his brother says, handing him the towels. “Hold 'em while I clean you up.” Mickey lets him wipe his tears away, and then the blood on his forehead. There's some on his chin, too, which he didn't even notice.

“Was… was mom here? When he got home earlier?” Iggy's voice was strained, too quiet. Mickey shook his head slowly.

“No. Mama was out. M-mama wasn't here when he came and he started smashing things.”

That happened all the time, both of them have witnessed it many times. Terry being angry for one reason or another, it never mattered. Most of them had to do with their mom. She was either not there or somewhere where he didn't want her to be, either too loud or not talking enough… Fighting too much or not doing enough. No matter what she did, he always got angry. And drunk. And when she wasn't there to take his hits, the kids had to do-

“He hurt you?” Iggy asks, though the blood he's wiping off his five-year-old brother's face is enough of an answer.

Mickey shakes his head again, looking away. And none of them says anything because they both know that he's lying.

“Where is Mama?” he asks then, angrily blinking away the tears when Iggy shrugs. “Dunno. 'Suppose she's with her friends. Or with Dad.” _If he's found her. If he hasn't beaten the life out of her._

 

After his face was looking better, the brothers started picking up the smashed bottles (ignoring that one of them had blood on it). Then, Iggy took Mickey out for a walk. They have been walking for nearly three hours now, but none of the boys brings up the option of going back home. For a small moment, they forget about home entirely. All they do is laugh (which mostly consists of Iggy making fun of Mickey, but he doesn't mind that much) and walk, walk until they have no other place to go, and until the sun starts setting.

“We should go back,” Iggy says, shrugging, though Mickey knows that it's just an act. He's already putting on the mask. And so does Mickey.

“Okay,” he says and follows his brother.

 _Pathetic_ , he whispers to himself when they reach the gate and his eyes fill with tears. He blinks them away, and he fights off the tremble.

The only reason he doesn't cry or run away is the sad smile his brother gives him seconds before walking up the stairs to their front door.

It almost looks like he's saying “ _we're gonna be okay”._ And Mickey believes him. He's still a kid, he still has hope. He still loves his dad.

They walk through the door.

And they know that they should never have done it the second their eyes adjust to the dim light.


End file.
